


Know Your Place

by siempreniall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siempreniall/pseuds/siempreniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall's place in life has changed a lot. He's always left trying to figure out where he truly belongs, with whom he truly belongs. It just takes a few tries and a few life-changing, impossible events for him to get it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know Your Place

**Author's Note:**

> Shitty summary, I know. Also this is part where I remind you that this is a fictional story and in no way is a representation of what truly goes on in these peoples' lives yada yada yada.

Niall’s three and he doesn’t know a lot, but he does know that his place in life is cuddled between his ma and da. The Horans are a particularly touchy family, and before they leave for work they like to shower their children with enough hugs and kisses to last them the day. It’s a sight to see, really: little Niall in his Action Man footie pajamas, curled into his mother’s chest when it’s a bit too early for the sun to rise. He’s usually just a bundle of energy; a constant force of bare feet pattering around the house and shrieks that echo from all corners. But in the mornings, still lazy from a heavy sleep and not quite ready for the day to start yet, he just melts into any embrace he can get.

His brother, Greg, is a little older and a little more “mature”, or at least as mature as a nine-year-old thinks himself to be. Early mornings aren’t really his thing, and when he’s dressed in his jumper and pressed trousers, ready to be dropped off at his babysitter’s house before school, he can barely keep his face from drooping into his Cheerios. As the years pass he’s becoming less receptive to hugs. “They’re for little kids,” he tells his mother, glaring at the toddler by his foot who’s currently slobbering over a leaning tower of Legos. She accepts that, knows that forcing him into an embrace will do nothing but make him resent her later in life.

And it’s easier, knowing that Niall is still soft and huggable as ever. She wants to keep him from growing, wants to wrap him up so tightly in his childhood blankies that he’ll never get any bigger. He’s so cute right now that she can barely stand it. His brown hair is growing a bit long, he’s due for a haircut any day now, and his baby blue eyes are so big that she thinks she just might melt into them. His cheeks are permanently rosy in a stark contrast to his milky white skin. _Good_ , she thinks, _he’ll never forget his Irish roots_. Sometimes, too, he looks just like his father, especially when he’s wearing one of those oversized jumpers during family holidays. All three of the men in her life look exactly the same, and she’s always left wondering where her genes will come into play.

So as Greg runs out of the car without so much as a ‘love you’ or a ‘bye’, she takes her time getting Niall out of his seat. His fingers are adorably tucked away into his mouth (even though everyone keeps on telling her to break that habit of his before he needs braces) and he looks like he could fall asleep at any time. She loves every side of Niall, but this quiet one where he hasn’t quite restored the energy from the day before is a special one that she keeps tucked away in the back of her mind. The one where his little fist is grabbed tightly onto her cardigan and he still smells like the bubble bath from the night before. She wants to hold him like this forever, and even if she doesn’t have that chance, she knows this Niall will always hold a place in her heart.

** **

Niall’s six and, after much thought and worry, his place is at his dad’s house. The divorce hadn’t really been _bad_ , at least as far as divorces go, but it hadn’t really been easy. He never heard his parents yell and he never saw them cry or raise their voices at each other or anything, and he’s had friends in the same situation as him and they can definitely not say the same. But he was used to both his parents tucking him in at the same time, and that stopped months ago. They had tried splitting custody, one weekend at one parent’s and the next at the other’s, but those things never work.

Now Niall’s room is officially unpacked at his dad’s and it feels weird yet right. His mum won’t be around as much anymore and that’s something he doesn’t really understand, but at least now he doesn’t have to move back and forth so much. No one really talks to him about it, they don’t really know how, so he’s left feeling pretty horrible about the whole thing. He doesn’t think his mum doesn’t want him (he knows that for a fact because she had kept whispering it into his ear, even far after his eyes had closed and she knew he was asleep) but there’s something in his small mind that makes him feel at fault. Maybe it’s because Greg doesn’t spend any time with him anymore, but he just feels sad at times.

His new room is space-themed and he likes the planets. There are glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and at night, when he can’t get to sleep even though he knows he should, he likes to pretend that he’s an astronaut shooting off into the clouds. There’s so much room in the night sky and Niall can’t help but get excited at all the possibilities.

Dad works early and late a lot, but sometimes he’s home at just the right time for them to watch TV together. They snuggle on the sofa in the parlor and put on whatever Niall wants, his father never has an objection, and lately it seems to always _The Magic School Bus_. So Bobby will sit there until bath time, telling his wide-eyed child about everything he can remember from science class. There are black holes and there are suns other than the one they see in the day, and all those white dots that only show themselves at night are suns too, just very far away. Sometimes Niall will ask impossibly loudly with his little voice: “Da, can I reach one of those suns? Do you think I can do that?” And Bobby will just shake his head and try to let his son down easily, scratching his scalp so that Niall will lean into his hand. “No, Ni, not yet. We haven’t figured out how yet. But if anyone can do it, it’s you,”

Maura makes it over a few times a month, just to see her sons and to make sure everyone’s doing alright. Niall’s always told ahead of time when she’s coming over so he’ll count down the sleeps and make sure to brush his teeth extra well the night before. During those visits Niall always feels better because his mum is the same as before, nothing has changed. She still holds him tight, even if he’s grown and she hasn’t, and she will sing Irish songs into his cheek. Sometimes he’ll even go over to her house if he has a long weekend off of school, and those are his favorites. He loves his dad’s house and it feels like home there, but nothing helps those blue feelings like sleeping with his mum in her bed and having her make a proper fry-up in the morning. It’s just when they finally have to leave each other again, as he feels her grip tighten and then unbearably loosen when she says she _really has to go_ , that those feelings flood back to him. Sometimes he cries and sometimes he doesn’t, but his dad’s always there to hold him either way. 

** **

Niall’s eight and his seat in class is always between Sean and Dylan. The teachers have given up on trying to separate them because it just means the boys’ conversations continue from across entire classrooms. Instead, they’re tucked away in corners and told to at least try to not distract the other students. They talk about stupid things, mostly. Like pizza and whether or not Miss Halloway smells like farts (she does). They found each other in the beginning of the school year and it was friendship at first sight. Ever since that September day they have been inseparable. Their houses have been host to countless sleepovers and Niall used his one birthday wish on his two new best friends moving next door. It hasn’t happened – yet.

At recess they chase girls. Sometimes they’re literally chasing them because nothing beats a class-wide game of tag on a nice day, but sometimes they try to ‘put the moves on’ the ones they really like. Whatever that really means. It’s just that Niall keeps on seeing Greg out with girls and sometimes he says thing right next to their ear or they’ll snuggle up together and kiss on nights when they’re supposed to be babysitting. So Niall tries that. When Dottie McIlroy stands near the monkey bars in her new white dress he decides it’s the time to try out what Greg has gotten so good at. He stalks up to her and stares pretty little Dottie right in the eyes. She squeaks out a quiet “hi” before Niall leans in closer. It’s just that he never hears what Greg has ever said to these girls (and he doesn’t know it yet but there’s a good reason for that) so he just says the first thing that pops into his mind.

“Did you see the Derby game?”

She hasn’t, of course not. No one in this country has. She just stares back then, completely confused by the situation unfolding in front of her. So Niall ticks that box in his head and moves onto the next, lips puckered out as his he tries to aim for her mouth. Instead of going along with it, she pushes him off and heads for her group of friends. Sean and Dylan join him then, poking his lips and making fun of him for it as they walk back indoors.

It’s just that Niall’s confused because he doesn’t really _like_ Dottie McIlroy, but everyone else in the class does. She’s got curly hair that a startling shade of red and loads of freckles that would make any parent proud. And she’s always so nice, too, always wanting others to feel included. So that’s why he had kissed her, well tried to anyways. It’s then, for the first time, that Niall believes that his place might not be with girls.

** **

Niall’s twelve and his spot on the football team is, sadly, on the bench. It’s not because he’s bad (and really he’s not) but his knee’s giving him trouble. It’s not actually broken or snapped or anything scary like that, but it’s been giving him enough pain recently to warrant a spot on the side. He knows it’s not his fault, not anyone’s fault at all, but that doesn’t keep him from feeling horrible about it. There’s this inexplicable rush that he gets on the field that he can’t replicate anywhere else, and without that in his life he feels a bit incomplete.

He likes running and how the misty air feels on his face as he races down the pitch. He likes passing and kicking and making goals, and he has gotten a few of those this season. He likes when his team wins and they all gather in the middle of the field for a group huddle, how everyone relishes in their victory and they’re all thankful to be there together – even if some of them don’t play. There are bits and pieces of those emotions that he can pick up from the sideline, but it’s just not the same and he hates it. Most of all, though, he hates how the team seems to function completely normally without him. He wants them to miss him, he wants them to need him, he wants them to _lose_. But they don’t.

Football’s no longer on the front of his mind, then. He doesn’t quit the team (really wants to, but he just can’t bring himself to do it) but if he skips a few practices here or there he doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t think anyone else does either. In place of the rush of a good game of footie, he picks up the guitar. He just has a cheap one from some Christmas or birthday a year or so back, but it’s his. It’s a right-handed guitar and he’s left-handed, but still, it’s his. All he has are a few books and some videos online to go off of, but he starts to figure out that he’s really not half bad. 

He picks up loads of songs rather quickly and there’s barely a second when he’s home where you can’t hear his telltale strings. For the first time in a long time he’s really proud of what he’s doing. Even when his knee fully heals and he gets his spot back on the team, he always has the guitar on his mind. It’s there in practice and during school and when he’s trying to get to sleep. There are new chords he wants to perfect and new songs to try. And, God, he wants to start writing on his own too. The possibilities are endless and, for once, Niall thinks they’re attainable as well.

It’s not really a surprise when he just stops playing football altogether. He never returned to 100% after his time off and his playing time has been down. Once again he had to get reacquainted with the bench. After the season’s over, finally, he pulls his father aside and breaks the news to him. Niall half expects him to try and dissuade him or perhaps look even the littlest bit disappointed, but his father just smiles and pulls him in for a hug. Bobby likes football but he likes his son even more, and he only wants what make them both happy. He’s heard Niall singing in his room and in the yard and at the school talent show, and he really thinks his son has a gift. Can hear the way he quiets a room, and how smooth his tone is; that can’t be learned. It’s something you’re born with.

** **

Niall’s fifteen and he knows, deep down, that his place in life is on the stage. It isn’t a hobby anymore. Now when he gets on stage and sings his heart out and plays until his fingers ache it’s because he wants a future in it. He’s stopped thinking about anything else, really. He used to want to be a policeman, then a soldier, then a chef, then a football player. But he’s never been so sure about his future as he is now. Even if he can’t get on the stage, even if he doesn’t quite make it as far as he hopes, he wants music. Just music.

It’s not like this is a new thing, either. There are plenty of pictures when he was younger where he has a stupid plastic guitar but it’s still natural. And that time in primary school where he played a lead in _Oliver_ and each night he got the best rush on stage. Having hundreds of pairs of eyes upon him, even if only from his classmates and their parents, was enough to make him feel bubbly inside. He used to come home after a good rehearsal and sing his parts through the house, and even if it annoyed Greg he never really cared.

Now, though, now it’s different. Now he has a manager and gigs lined up – proper _gigs_. He’s not famous, by a long shot, but sometimes people recognize him out on the streets of Mullingar and that’s nice. He’ll take a picture with them and he’ll sign an autograph (he’s been practicing). Still, nothing is better than when he gets to be on stage. He doesn’t really have original songs out. There’s a few hidden away in notebooks under mattresses and in backs of closets, but they’re not that good and he doesn’t really want others to hear them anyways. They’re usually about cute boys, and even with ambiguously non-gendered pronouns, the subjects are a bit too personal for others to hear.

Especially the assholes at school. One would think that singing to a hundred girls on stage would get you called things _other than_ gay (and its synonyms that Niall would rather not repeat thank you very much). That just doesn’t seem to be the case. It doesn’t really bother Niall, not _really_ , because he’s carefree and has thick skin and things like that just don’t bother him. He doesn’t tell anyone, either. Sean and Dylan, and to a lesser extent Darragh, already know because they see it happen, and they offer Niall small smiles and pats on the back when he gets to school and his locker has been written on _again_ , but they’re the only ones. His teachers don’t need to know because then the other boys will just get in trouble. Of course he doesn’t tell Greg because he’ll just tell Niall to suck it up and get a girlfriend for once. And his ma and da would just overreact and call the headmaster and think that he’s depressed or something. So he just stays quiet.

He doesn’t really care what the others think because this is all Niall’s got and he’s going to make it work, whether or not other people decide to get in his way. Those other boys, they have _bright futures_ with good scores on A-Levels and scholarships to uni for footie and dates with pretty, popular girls. Niall doesn’t have any of that. He’s not dumb but he doesn’t pay attention in school long enough to get good grades, and his chance at football is long and gone, and don’t even get started on the gay dating scene at a Catholic school. Music is what Niall has.

He has people chanting his name. He has callouses from the guitar. He has fans screaming in adoration. He has passion. He has determination. He has desire. He has want. And he’ll do whatever it takes to make it big.

** **

Niall’s sixteen and he gets this funny feeling in the pit of his stomach that his whole life has been leading up to him taking his place next to these four boys. The judges are talking again and they keep saying words but Niall’s not really sure how to string them together. Niall should be gone, he should have left Wembley by now. He wasn’t called with the rest of the boys, he didn’t make it. But alas, he’s still here, and he knows… he knows something is up.

This kid to his right is named Harry, and his arm is draped over Niall so that he’s anchored down. He feels like he could be floating, that everything happening shouldn’t be, but Harry’s holding his shoulder and keeping him steady. A boy named Zain’s to his left, and Niall hasn’t talked to him much but he knows the kid can _sing_ , even if he’s shy and doesn’t want to believe it. On the other side of Zain is Louis, he’s quiet and Niall hasn’t talked to him much either, but Louis’s hand is resting on Zain’s shoulder and every so often it brushes against Niall. Just a little reassurance that Niall’s up on stage with four other boys, four boys who are kind and talented. Just like him. And last is Liam, on the complete other end of the little line they made. Out of all of them Niall knows (and likes) Liam the most because they’ve been rooming together at Bootcamp. Liam is serious but that doesn’t mean he’s not fun, and he and Niall are only a month apart. That makes it easier for Niall, who keeps feeling like a little baby in a sea of grown men.

So they’re all gathered together, in a little huddle, in a little line, for some reason. They don’t know why they’re on stage now, and neither do the four girls in a similar situation at the other end of the stage. All Niall knows is that the stage is where he belongs, the stage means he’s made it, and the stage is where he is.

“We think it would be a great idea” one of the judges, Nicole Scherzinger, says “to have two separate groups,”

That’s it. They’ve been waiting for that. And suddenly, there’s movement all around. Harry is carrying Louis. Niall doesn’t know what to do so he just _jumps_. Liam looks like he might throw up, but in like a good way. Zain looks like he’s in shock. It’s all too much, but it’s perfect all the same. They’ve just been told that they’re good, but together they’d be better. That they still have a chance to fight. To come back in a year with a new sound, five lads taking on X Factor _together._ Then they’re told to compose themselves.

“One other thing,” Simon Cowell says, and Niall still isn’t over how he’s actually hearing Simon Fucking Cowell saying things in real life, “We’ve decided to put you both through to the judges’ houses,”

Niall jumps again, and he doesn’t really know why he keeps doing that but it’s what feels right. There’s too much emotion and excitement and anxiety pent up in him to do anything but constantly move. Harry’ somehow on the ground so Niall comes up behind him and jostles him a bit, just to make sure he knows that Niall’s there. That they’re there. The group is there. Their group. Simon’s smiling, and Niall doesn’t really believe it because he’s never really seen Simon Cowell smile that much, but he assumes that the five of them must be doing something right.

Simon settles them down again, talks to them about how they need to be serious and work really hard. That they’re already at a disadvantage, that this a lifeline, but Niall doesn’t need to be reminded. He’s got the tear stains still left on his cheek and the bitten down nails on his fingers to remind him. He’s got the number 232677 still pinned to his shirt to remind him that _Niall_ , didn’t make it, but NiallAndHarryAndLouisAndZainAndLiam made it. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. He doesn’t care that he’s not a solo artist; all that matters is that he can continue. He can go through to the next round and try his hardest to keep at what he loves. He doesn’t have to return to Mullingar and face all the people that doubted him, and prove them right. Niall’s made it, a little unconventionally, but Niall’s never been quite normal.

They’re given a chance to think about it by the judges, but Harry speaks up and says he’d like for them to take it. For the five of them to continue, and really Niall couldn’t agree any more. Any number of the five of them could be secret assholes, could have giant egos, could be dicks on power trips. They could have voices that don’t mesh well or styles that don’t mix. Niall doesn’t see any of that happening, though. He sees five lads who need each other, who will do anything to stay together. Everything feels right and perfect, and there’s bubbles in the pit of his stomach that tell him it’s fate.

They all split up and go their separate ways before the night is done. Not permanently, obviously, but just for a bit. Harry’s already planning a little thing at his stepfather’s bungalow in a week or two, and Niall can’t wait. He loves these boys already. All of them hug as they leave, sadly trudging back to wherever they came from. The rest of them live up north, but Niall’s the only one who’s not from around them. Not even from this country, actually. Niall’s the odd one out on a lot of things. He’s not British, the only blond one, the only one with a brother, and he kinda likes it. He’s got a flight to catch to Ireland, where he knows his family will be waiting for him with hugs and kisses. They’ll be so proud, he knows it.

He’s right, obviously. All of his family is there, even Greg is, and they hug him and have a hand-made sign ready. They don’t even ask him if he’s made it through, they’re just happy he’s back, so when he says “I’ve made it through!” they all jump on him again, as if he didn’t already understand how much they love him. And when he says, “Not alone,” they all kind of stop, just don’t do anything.

“You see, I’ve been put in a group with four other boys. You’d love ‘em! They’re the best, guys!”

His family doesn’t really know how to feel, but obviously Niall is happy so they start jumping around again. Okay, maybe Niall knows where he gets it from now. They tell him to invite his new buddies to Ireland, that their house will always be open for any boy that wants to stay. It’s music to Niall’s ears.

** **

Niall’s seventeen and he’s sure that his place is right where he is now, and he doesn’t want that to change. It can’t change. The five of them have survived so much together. They made it through Bootcamp, Judges’ Houses, and nine of these results shows. They only need two more, their name only needs to be called out twice more, and they’ve made it.

“In no particular order,” Dermot says, Niall likes Dermot, he’s nice, “the first act through to the next stage of the final is…”

_Matt_

Niall doesn’t hear Matt’s name, so much as he feels it. Feels the energy in the room, feels Simon’s grip on his shoulder tighten. They’re not done. That act was not them. They’re not _not_ through, but they’re not through either. But there’s no ill feelings there because Matt’s such a great guy and so damn talented. If anyone besides them should win it’s Matt. But all Niall can think about is how _they_ should win. _One Direction_ should win.

Niall turns his face to look at Simon, to make sure they’re okay. Simon’s become much more than a mentor to them through all these weeks. Louis jokingly calls him Uncle Simon, but Niall really does feel that way. He feels as if Simon has been their backbone and their brain and their heart and their lungs. Then things turn tense again. It’s time for the last name. The final name. Zayn’s to the left of Niall and Louis’s to the right. Harry’s somewhere on the other side, probably about to blow chunks if Harry’s track record is anything to go by. And near him is Liam, always the steady rock. Dermot’s back at it again.

“The second act still in the final is…”

Not One Direction.

That’s not what Dermot says, obviously, but it’s what Niall feels. It doesn’t matter who’s on that stage tomorrow night because it’s not them. They all turn towards Simon, they need Simon, but he’s already turning around in frustration. Niall feels like they’ve failed him. Even if Rebecca has the voice of an angel and a classic style and a wonderful heart, even if Matt is talented beyond compare and hilarious and deserves it, Niall knows that One Direction could be on the finale too. They could make it. They’ve got the heat and the passion and the vocals and the following. He doesn’t understand.

He chances a glance at Harry, and although he’s composed and clapping for Rebecca, Niall knows that Harry is about to break. They all are. They’ve put so much into this competition just for it to be gone so easily. Even Zayn, who is stoic, and Liam, who is strong-willed, and Louis, who is funny, are gutted. There’s so much to feel, so much to say, so little time, and they’re on national TV.

They go to hug Rebecca because it’s the polite thing to do, and they truly are happy for her, but they’re pulled back and the worst thing in the world happens to them. They’re forced to “take a look at your extraordinary time on the X Factor”. Niall thinks Dermot should have really said “relive all the best times of your life, that you’ll never get back, that you’ve lost forever”.

It’s a nice little montage, really. They go from audition to their performance with Robbie Williams (a highlight in their young lives), but it’s painful. Should be classified as cruel and unusual punishment. Niall tries to enjoy it, really, because it was so fun. It was more than he could have ever imagined. The performing, the rehearsing, the downtime at the house, the extra things like football games and movie premieres that they got to do just because. Still, Harry is shaking under his left hand and Zayn is rigid under his right. Everyone is trying their hardest to be okay with this, but they’re not. When the video finally ends, Niall sends a little thank you out from his mind.

Dermot talks to Louis and Zayn, which thankfully means that Niall doesn’t have to speak. He’s happy because he doesn’t know if he can, not right now, not about everything he’s going to miss not in front of millions of people.

“We’re definitely going to stay together,” Zayn says, “This isn’t the last of One Direction,”

 _Of course not_ , Niall thinks, _that was a given_. They’ve grown up these months in the house, but most importantly they’ve grown together. That’s not what Niall’s worried about, he knows that they’ve become some kind of mutant, codependent band who is defying all the odds and breaking all the rules, and that’s what fun. Niall just doesn’t know what will happen once they step off the stage, once they leave the studio, once they return home separately. They don’t have a contract, they’re just five teenaged boys who shouldn’t work together as well as they do. What luck do they have?

Simon starts to talk again, thanking their fans and saying he’s gutted. Niall’s at least happy to not hear _disappointed_ or _frustrated_.

“This is just the beginning for these boys,” he says, and even though Niall has never had a reason to distrust Simon, he just can’t believe that Simon can just say that. Life’s not that easy, the industry’s not that easy, nothing is ever that easy.

Backstage is rough. Their parents must have run from their seats together in the audience because they’re behind-the-scenes as soon as the boys get there. Harry starts crying immediately. Really, though, the others aren’t too far behind. It’s kind of just one, giant, ball of emotion. Simon’s not crying, but he’s certainly feeling something horrid deep inside of him. It’s something none of them want to feel, but they have to so they continue what they’ve come to do and accept it together.

Niall’s been sandwiched between his family members for about four minutes when Louis taps on his dad’s shoulder and butts his way in.

“Sorry, loves, I just thought I’d steal Niall for a sec,” he says.

They all oblige him, obviously, because like everyone else in the universe, they too are in love with Louis. He leads Niall back to a room, away from the others and all the chaos that they’ve accidentally created.

“You doing alright, Nialler?” Louis asks. And Niall has been doing alright, actually. He’s stopped crying and is just more feeling like shit, but as Louis scratches circles in his back and leans in close Niall starts up again, as much as he hates to.

“Ah man, sorry,” Louis apologizes for some reason, encircling Niall with his arms and holding him tight.

“I’m not letting us go out like this,” Louis continues, “We’ve come too far, we’re not giving up quite yet. I trust you, I trust the rest of the boys, I trust Simon, I trust us, okay?”

Niall nods against Louis shoulder, and he likes it here. Likes how Louis understands what he needs, how the other boys know when someone needs space and when someone needs a cuddle. Even if they haven’t won, there’s still so much more in their future. It’s just their job to bring it to life, and if anyone can do it God dammit it’s them. Nothing has to change, and Niall’s not gonna let it.

** **

Niall’s eighteen and he’s secure in his spot in the band, but apparently no one on Twitter is. Now #letniallsing is trending, but he also continues to get horrible replies telling him that’s he’s ugly and his teeth are vile and his voice is bad. They’re not horrible in that they make him feel like shit, more like their grammar and spelling skills are giving Liam’s a run for their money. And honestly, Niall doesn’t agree with either side. Half of his band’s fans seem to think Niall is deadweight and the other half seem to think that Niall spends each night crying over his solo time on their new album. In reality, Niall couldn’t be happier with how things have worked out.

He likes to sing, and on this record he sings; that’s what important. If anything he wishes he could’ve played the guitar, but it’s a minor annoyance that he barely ever thinks about. Making a record is hard, and Niall knows that. He sang loads of parts over the course of the entire process, but his voice wasn’t right for all of them, so the ones he was best at stuck. Not to mention he likes to sing the high parts. He likes to really get up in that range where the other boys stall, to sing the parts that no one really notices but would kill the harmonies if they weren’t there. He just wishes other people thought the same way as him. Especially his band mates.

Liam is the first to break, and it really only takes a few hours. They’re watching a movie, one Niall’s forgotten the name of halfway through, and Liam won’t stop bothering him. It’s not like he even _says_ anything about it, just quietly asks if there’s anything he can do for Niall. Popcorn? A drink? Need to close the blinds? Want me to kick some twitter trolls’ asses? Well, like, Liam doesn’t say the last one but everything from the way his jaw is set to the way he keeps scratching at Niall’s knee seem to convey it.

Zayn and Louis are next, and they’re on like a double-team mission to make sure Niall’s happy. They take him out for ice cream and offer him the best seat in the van on the way to a radio interview. They stop harassing him about pissing himself that one time he was really drunk (and honestly that was like two months ago why hadn’t they dropped it before). It’s like their entire lives now rely around making sure Niall never has to cry ever again. Niall appreciates the effort, sure, but they’ve been kinda smothering him, so he just retreats to his flat whenever it gets to be too much. That’s where Harry finds him.

Niall finds it weird that Harry is the last one to confront him about this Very Special Issue, but the other three reacted so quickly so it’s not like Harry was really taking his time or anything. He knocks on Niall’s door at half past three on a sleepy Sunday afternoon. Harry opens it without Niall saying he could, but that’s kinda the dynamics of the band so it’s not an issue.

“You home all alone, bud?” he asks.

“Nah, I’ve got my posse with me,” Niall responds, gesturing to the pizza he ordered and the beer scattered around him.

“Mind if I join?”

Niall scoots over the pizza box and kicks his feet off the sofa, because he never minds when Harry joins.

“So what are we watching?” Harry asks, and _oh boy_ , Harry’s already at the thing he does where he switches from “you” to “we”. Harry’s in this for the long-haul.

“I’m watching a replay of a Derby game from a few years ago, if that’s alright?”

“Of course! Always love a good game,” and Harry does. Harry loves a good Man U game, but he usually doesn’t care about Derby.

“I’m fine,” Niall responds after a few seconds, to a question left unasked but still hanging in the air.

“That’s what people say when they’re not really fine, mate,” Harry replies, not tearing his eyes from the TV.

“Yeah, emotionally-dumb assholes who have too many feelings. Do you really think that’s me?”

Harry sits in silence for a second, processing it in his brain.

“But how do you do it?” Harry finally asks, “How do you see all the things people say about you, and just not care?”

Suddenly it’s a bit clearer to Niall that maybe this isn’t all about him. Maybe this isn’t about him at all.

“Well, Haz,” Niall starts, turning to face Harry, “I know people aren’t gonna like me. People haven’t liked me all my life. I’ve been too annoying and too stupid and too loud and too obnoxious. People used to call me the _shittiest_ names because I spent my weekends singing and playing the guitar to strangers and maybe I liked Justin Bieber a bit too much. Not everyone needs to like me, though. And if someone doesn’t like me because I have an obsession with a pop star or my teeth are crooked or I hit a flat note once, well then why would I want them to like me? They’re obviously a very shitty person,”

“But like… what if they’re right? Don’t you worry about that?”

Niall sighs and picks up Harry’s hand that’s closest to him. It’s always been a thing with Harry, whenever he’s stressed a good hand massage always brings him back down. Niall’s never questioned it.

“I know my teeth suck, so whenever someone spams me on Twitter telling me that over and over again, I know they’re right. But my teeth don’t define me, Haz. No one part of me defines me. And you too. You’re sweet and talented and curly and funny and good-looking and smooth and loving, and sometimes you steal my food and sometimes you snore and sometimes you’re late to rehearsal and you don’t call. You’re so complex and that’s you – you’re Harry,”

Harry turns to better face Niall and takes his hand back, only to replace it in Niall’s grasp with the other hand.

“I just… it’s those little things you see, right? One person saying your voice sucks or that you used to be hotter or something equally dumb. I just can’t get it out of my mind sometimes,”

“Your problem, pal, was listening to people who don’t know you. I know you. Your voice is phenomenal and you keep getting hotter by the day, it’s unfair. I know you think I just say that because I’m your friend, but who’s going to be more honest: someone who just wants to hurt you or me?”

Harry finally relaxes all the way at that, sinking back into the sofa and letting his hand go fully limp in Niall’s grip.

“I always know where to go if I need someone to set me straight,” he says with a smile, “You’re always here and you never let me down,”

** **

Niall’s nineteen and he doesn’t know when it happened, but he’s pretty sure his spot is right next to Harry. It isn’t a new thing, not even in the slightest. It’s been quite gradual, really. Everything started at the beginning of this tour; if there was a choice then Niall and Harry would be in one hotel while the other three went to a different one or stayed on the bus or left the city early. It’s not like Liam, Zayn, and Louis don’t like being stuck together. Hell, half of the time it’s them doing the requesting. It just seems like they all want to do different things. Niall and Harry want to eat and go visit historical sites and fuck around on the guitar while the others like smoking and playing video games and shopping. And it’s not like they don’t get a lot of “five of us friendship time” in either, but Niall would have to be fucking blind to not see that Harry and him are together more than they’re apart.

They’re in Florida now, on their third leg of their tour, and Niall’s decided he hates Florida. It’s hot and humid and he prefers New York or California, but they’ve had a few days off here so it hasn’t been all bad. The first day Harry and he went exploring, finding themselves in a little restaurant with good chips and beer they weren’t allowed to drink. The rest of them were off doing something, God really knows what at this point, but the night ended with watching _Grease_ again so, really, Niall thinks he and Harry had the better time.

Then the next day was the yachting excursion that turned into a semi-nightmare for their PR team and a slight heart attack for their mums back home, but it was some of the most fun the five of them have had in a while, off stage. They fucked around on jet skis and got a bit sunburned and ate some good food. There was really nothing to complain about, but once they heard about the hoard of fans waiting for them at the dock, plans had to be rearranged. Louis and Zayn were a bit, uh, _altered_ from their time on the high seas, so Liam had offered to get off with them at a different spot. Harry and Niall met the fans on the dock in their swim shorts, signing autographs and taking pictures even though they were piss-tired.

“You two are, like, always together,” a girl said, she had long brown hair and about fifteen things for them to sign.

“Yeah, well we’re best friends. What can you expect?” Niall responded, putting his pretty autograph on a Miami Heat snapback.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “It’s cute,” and then she was gone with a wink.

Niall didn’t really think about it because he was tired, didn’t even think about it about when Harry followed him back to his room and asked to sleep over, didn’t even think about it when Harry was still there when Niall woke up, with a room service breakfast all hot and just waiting to be eaten.

It hits him, though, when Josh stops by as the two of them are getting ready to head down to the pool.

“Do you wanna go do something, Nialler?” Josh asks.

“Me and Harry were actually about to go swimming,” Niall replies.

“Oh, well, then see you later,” and Josh is already halfway back to his room when Niall calls him back.

“Ay, Smelly, why would you think you couldn’t come?”

“It’s just… you and Harry like to do things alone. Dunno, thought this would be the same,”

“We like to do things _together_ , Josh, because we’re friends, not _alone_ ,”

“Whatever you say, bro. So I can come with you, and bring my friend?”

“Yeah! The more the merrier!”

Josh finally leaves and Niall goes back into the room, shaking his head. He wonders if maybe he and Harry have been spending an awful amount of time together lately, but not _alone._ Never alone. Lou’s usually with them, and of course their body guards, sometimes some of the other members of the crew tag along. But it must be something at least a bit noticeable if Josh is bringing it up, and not just some easily excited fangirl who probably goes by the name FuckMeNarry on Twitter or something.

“You almost ready to go?” Harry asks as he finally gets out of the bathroom.

“Hold on, I’m waiting for Josh. I told him he could come,”

“Oh? I thought it’d just be you and me,”

“Is that a problem?” Niall asks.

“Oh. No. I’m gonna go back to my room to pick up my shoes since we have time, then. Come get me when you’re ready, yeah?”

Harry leaves without saying goodbye, and it’s weird that Harry leaves at all because he’s been in Niall’s room for almost a day now and hasn’t seemed to give a shit about his shoes.

He still hasn’t found his damn shoes by the time they’re ready to go, so Harry plods barefoot down the hall as if every bacteria known to man isn’t on the floor (and Niall’s pretty sure it is). Still, the sun is warm and the water in the pool is cold. It’s a little crowded and they’re pretty sure half of the hotel has been on lookout for them since they arrived, but swimming is swimming and nothing will deter Niall from getting his inner-fish on.

It’s just that Harry won’t leave Niall’s side. He’s there when Niall leads everyone on a rousing round of water aerobics, he’s there when Niall tries to replicate the lift from _Dirty Dancing_ with a body guard, and he’s still there when Niall does absolutely _nothing_ and just stands in the middle of the pool. So it’s really no surprise when Harry comes up with one of his great ideas.

“Let’s play chicken!” he yells as Josh and his friend, Nick, from home return from the toilet.

“Yeah!” Josh screams back, “I call Cal!”

Cal looks particularly unamused at the prospect of having a fully-grown adult ride around on his shoulders, but Cal’s been following One Direction for a while now so he’s quite used to having to appease grown boys with stupid activities.

“I call Preston!” Nick yells, already wading over to where the burly bodyguard is standing.

“Guess that leaves you with me, Ni,” Harry says as he sends a smile in Niall’s direction, “You wanna ride on top?”

Niall gulps at the really dumb wording of that, but laughs all the same and climbs on Harry’s shoulders. He’s played chicken loads of times, and he’s always been the smaller one who has to be on top. It’s just… Harry keeps gripping Niall’s thighs tighter and tighter. And his hair is tickling Niall’s belly, right where his happy trail is. And there’s really no escaping the fact that Niall’s dick is like _right against_ the back of Harry’s head, which wouldn’t be such a big deal if Niall wasn’t currently fighting off feelings for his best mate. But he is so it is.

It’s not really like Niall to worry, it’s actually very un-Niall, but ever since the pool things have been different between him and Harry. It’s only the same day, and the only thing they’ve done since then is a concert. It’s not like there was tension on stage, at least Niall hopes so, but Niall can see it in the way Harry talks. It’s slower than usual (which would surprise most people as a thing that could actually happen) and he chooses his words more carefully. He thinks before he speaks, and his words are calculated and precise. Niall gets the feeling that Harry wants him to know exactly what he means, it’s just that Niall’s being pretty daft and still can’t really get it.

He finds an out when Harry’s shoes reappear until Niall’s bed, and he remembers why they’re there. Niall, like an idiot, had gotten his shoes wet on the boat. He complained and nagged about his predicament to anyone that would care, but Harry was the only one who would help. Harry shoved his white Converses into Niall’s hand, and wouldn’t listen to Niall’s protests that Harry needed shoes to wear. Just stepped off the ship barefoot as if nothing were more normal.

So Niall knocks on room 1003 with Harry’s shoes in hand. Harry, in true Styles fashion, answers in his pants.

“Hey! You found them!” Harry exclaims excitedly.

“Yeah, I borrowed them, remember? They were under my bed,”

“Right,” Harry says, looking over the shoes with interest, “So you wanna come in?”

Niall shouldn’t go in because it’s getting late, and besides the heavy feeling in his eyes to let him know that, there’s also the added gravel to Harry’s voice that only comes around when Harry’s tired. Or aroused. Niall shouldn’t go in, but Niall does a lot of things he shouldn’t.

“I was just getting to bed,” Harry says, as if it’s not obvious.

“Oh, well then, I don’t need to stay,” Niall suggests, and he’s already moving towards the door when Harry grabs his arm.

“No reason to. It’s a big bed,”

Niall wants to remind him that he has his own big bed, waiting for him just down the hall. One that he can sleep in alone and he can sleep in naked without it being awkward. But he knows Harry gets lonely, even on the best of days, so he follows Harry under the stark white duvet without mentioning it. Harry’s turned on his side, fiddling with his alarm clock on the night stand so he can wake up early enough to go and train. Niall lies on his back on the other side of the bed, and he keeps thinking and thinking. He does well when he doesn’t think, that’s his normal state actually, and it’s what keeps him sane in a world where overreacting can lead you astray. But now Harry is next to him and he’s only in his pants and his back muscles look bigger from all the time with their trainer and he still smells like the hotel shampoo. It’s a deadly combination.

“So Josh said something funny to me today,” Niall says.

“Oh yeah, what?”

“Just said that we hung out a lot, he figured we wouldn’t want him to come to the pool. Crazy?”

“Well, like, we are together a lot,” Harry says, still fiddling with his phone, “Like, I dunno, it’s not weird, right? We’re… friends,”

There’s enough hesitation in the last word for Niall to feel like he has a green light, so he turns over to face Harry on the bed and drags a finger down his back.

“I think I’m speaking for both of us, mate, when I say Josh is onto something,” Niall says.

Harry stills for a few moments, and then places his phone back on the table and turns to meet Niall face-to-face. His lips quiver for a moment, like they’re forming words that can’t be trusted.

“For how much time we spend together, we rarely just talk,” he says, tracing a finger over Niall’s Cupid’s bow.

Niall wants to say something witty or romantic or hot, something like he’s seen in the movies. But Niall’s head is also racing at a thousand miles a minute and all it seems to say is _youhaveacuteboyinfrontofyouandyourenotkissinghimwhy_. So Niall listens to his brain and shifts so that he and Harry are touching noses, and suddenly Harry’s the one crossing the extra inch.

Kissing Harry isn’t new for Niall. The entire band’s relationship is weird at best and completely homoerotic at worst. They’ve all made out on boring nights on tour when it’s been a few too many days since the last shag and your band mate’s closer than the nearest bird. It’s not really like a thing, or at least not a thing that has ever made anyone uncomfortable. Just a nice little dose of human contact on a bad day, nothing more. Except… now.

Harry isn’t one to keep kisses chaste, not even for a second. He’s in it for the full experience from the get-go, and that’s fun for Niall. To not have to feel like they have to gauge when it’s the right time to move on, to dig deeper, to get more out of it.

“This is awkward,” Harry says suddenly, and Niall’s honestly a bit shocked because everything has been _wonderful_ from his end. Harry must read Niall’s face immediately because he just giggles and pushes Niall’s back onto the bed, climbing over him in the process.

“Better,” he smiles, then swoops down in for more.

Nothing more really happens that night, nothing that wouldn’t go beyond a normal snog that they’ve done before. Just lips roaming against lips and tongues playfully darting in and out of mouths, hands roving to wherever they please. Still, it’s different and Niall knows it. There’s something in the way that Harry is literally buzzing or the way he himself can’t contain the sounds that escape his mouth. It’s not a matter of just getting off, and both of them know that. They do it because they want to taste each other and feel each other and stay close to each other. It’s all about _each other._

They fall asleep intertwined, as if that’s how it’s always been and always should be. Harry curled around Niall so that his shoulder is essentially Harry’s pillow, and fingers left touching even after one swears the other is asleep. It’s not something that usually happens, that’s way too close and personal for even their weird little friendship. They go asleep still without saying anything, but they don’t need to because their bodies are slotted together and it’s as if that’s how it’s always supposed to be.

** **

Niall’s twenty and there’s no place he’d rather be than where he is now. The flat looks new and smells new and, by all means, is new. Everything is white and Niall can’t wait to get his hands dirty and make it feel more like home, even if he and Harry are rarely ever there. They don’t really know why they decided to move in together because it wasn’t just one thing that made it seem like the right idea Like most things it snuck up on them, until one day it just seemed stupid as hell that Niall had a toothbrush at Harry’s, and his own stock of his favorite cereal, and a little section of the closet dedicated to a change of outfit. It was a no-brainer really, that they might as well just live together.

It’s been a while since Niall has felt this way, felt so strongly that where he is, is in fact right. Nothing seems more undeniable, though, that this is what they need. They need a shared flat with more privacy and more space. Something the two of them can enjoy together without worrying about going back to their own flat to retrieve something they’ve left there.

The first night feels right. They’re in a bed that they’ve picked out together, one that is soft enough for Harry’s back but firm enough to keep Niall satisfied. And there’s a nest of pillows that surround them so Niall always has the perfect height to keep his knee happy. It seems so domestic, and Niall’s aware, but Niall’s honestly never been happier. He loves to wake up to Harry in the morning, knowing that he won’t have to leave. He likes to make breakfast burritos for the both of him, but even moreso he likes when Harry wakes him up in bed with fresh omelets already made. Niall’s not one to turn down good food and a naked chef.

Each night they fit together like that first time in Miami, what seems like so long ago. They don’t always sleep the same, sometimes in a giant ball and other times spread across the entire bed. It depends on the temperature and what body part is aching them again and who’s had beans a little too close to bedtime. Still, their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces and there’s never a part out of place. Whether it’s fingers tangled with fingers or feet hooked around legs or heads so close they’re always touching, their bodies just match up.

Niall’s so far from home, so far from green fields and dangling cliffs, and rough brogues. He was raised in Ireland, raised in Mullingar, raised outside of the ritzy posh life of North London. He was raised with a family who didn’t have much, but definitely had enough. He was raised with someone always gone. A mum at her own house or a dad at work or a brother God knows where. But now he’s found his own place, one he’s made on his own. In the middle of a city with a never-ending glow and a severe lack of green space. In a flat that cost more than his parents will ever see. And Harry’s always there, _always_. Even if he’s away in Holmes Chapel or at the store buying bread, Harry finds a way to stick around. Whether it’s through a note on the mirror or a mug of hot chocolate he forgot to wash that’s still sitting by the sink, or even the multitude of photos he insisted on setting out the day they moved in, Harry is always there. That’s what helps Niall know, that after all this time, he’s finally found his place. And it won’t be changing anytime soon.


End file.
